


Out of the cold

by thepilot



Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - 1930s, Blizzards & Snowstorms, Bottom Peter Parker, But he’s no saint, First Kiss, First Meetings, M/M, Mutual Pining, New York City, Performer Quentin Beck, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Photographer Peter Parker, Quentin Beck isn’t bad, SSBB Kinkmas, Strangers to Lovers, Top Quentin Beck, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:22:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thepilot/pseuds/thepilot
Summary: Set in 1930’s New York City, one year prior to my first fic. Mysterio is a performer/magician and, well, he’s not exactly a superhero.Due to a snowstorm, Quentin invites Peter to spend the night.
Relationships: Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 20
Kudos: 18
Collections: Far From Home - 1930’s, SSBB Kinkmas 2020





	Out of the cold

_“It’s really coming down!”_

_“Must be at least half a foot already!”_

Quentin listened to the unusual bustle outside his dressing room as he packed up his belongings. The impending snowstorm that Sunday evening had everyone in a frenzy wanting to rush home. With one last glance around his small room, he shoulder his duffel bag and flicked off all the lights, nearly colliding with stage hands as they bustled about. 

“See ya’ next week, Mr. Beck!” a few of the crew called out to him. He could feel the chill already seeping into the building from the back entrance as he made his way out, wet footprints leaving a treacherous and slippery trail. Quentin had to shove a bit harder to push the door open, and nearly stumbled into the snow as the wind whipped up. 

“More like two feet,” Quentin grumbled sarcastically to himself as he started stomping through the snow. He looked up and down the avenue and saw only a few people braving the storm, probably other performers getting out of their shows. 

By the time Quentin trudged through the snow a few blocks, he was cold and wet and miserable, and hated that he lived too close to the theater to warrant taking the subway, and too far away to make walking in the snow enjoyable by any means. He set his mind to thinking of more pleasant things, like being dry and warm. 

Just as Quentin though he couldn’t possibly walk any further, he finally rounded the corner to the street where his modest, but comfortable, one bedroom, sixteenth floor apartment was located. A ferocious wind caused him to shield his eyes but once it had passed, he saw the silhouette of a man in the middle of the long empty street, as if he’d been born of the snowstorm itself. The man was standing so still the snow was beginning to collect on his head and shoulders. 

“Stand there any longer, and you’ll turn into a snowman!” Quentin couldn’t help but call out. The man turned around and smiled. Through the snow, Quentin surmised he was a bit younger than himself, with thoughtful eyes peering through snowy lashes. 

“I’d be so lucky!” the man yelled back. “Missed my train and now they’ve stopped running! Looks like I’ll be walking home!”

“Where do you live?” 

The young man brushed some of the snow out of his hair and shrugged. “Forrest Hills.”

Quentin quirked an eyebrow. “Are you serious? And you’re going to just...walk there in,” Quentin gestured vaguely around himself, “this?”

The man opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but changed his mind. “Yeah, I guess. It’s not so bad.”

“Kid, you could really freeze. At least stay the night. My apartment is right here.”

Quentin pointed to his building, and the man followed his gaze. He was probably, no, _definitely_ making a huge mistake, but he also wasn’t the type to leave a good looking guy out in a snowstorm.

“I wouldn’t want to-“

“No, I insist. The year is almost over, gotta get at least one good deed in,” he winked. The man drew his bottom lip through his teeth in thought. 

“If you’re sure-“

“Positive. Let’s get out of the cold.”

The young man nodded and hopped through the snow to the sidewalk and fell in stride with Quentin. 

“I’m Peter, by the way. Peter Parker,” he said, holding out a gloved hand. Quentin returned the shake, smiling. 

“Quentin Beck.” 

———-

Quentin, being the gentleman that he was, had immediately insisted on loaning Peter some pajamas as soon as they entered the apartment (rather than letting Peter spend the night in a soaked suit). Peter emerged from the bathroom dressed in Quentin’s own clothing, the top and bottom being quite a bit oversized on Peter’s trimmer frame, and it had taken every bit of restraint Quentin had to not jump on the young man. The chase was half the fun, anyway.

Their conversation had been steady: Peter, as it turned out, was a photographer for the Daily Bugle. He’d been in the middle of the street because he’d been eyeing a shot, but didn’t want to risk damaging his camera in the snow. The camera, which Peter had proudly shown off at the first opportunity, now sat in its case on a chair in Quentin’s quaint apartment kitchen. 

Quentin had offered the basics of his life: where he was from, what he did, and where he’d gone to school. Peter had smiled and nodded eagerly, adding in his own narrative here and there. 

Presently, he was sitting opposite Quentin, nursing a warm cup of tea. 

“I shouldn't have had tea so late. Now I’ll never be able to sleep.”

Quentin shrugged, fascinated by the spring returning to Peter’s drying curls. “There’s plenty we can do if you can’t fall asleep.” 

Peter blushed as he brought his mug up to his lips, his dark brown eyes looking up at Quentin. A bit nervous, with a hint of coy. 

“Like what?”

“We could play a game. Something...uninvolved.” Quentin hummed and tapped his finger on his mug. “I’ve got cards. Or we could play something simpler.” He wasn’t even sure where he was going with this, but he’d learned that in theater, it was best to go with your instincts. “Truth or dare?”

Peter frowned, seemingly chewing on the idea before nodding. “I uh...alright. Who uh...starts?”

“I’ll start,” Quentin smirked, leaning back in his chair and crossing his leg.

“Peter, truth or dare?” 

“Truth.” The reply was made without hesitation, and Quentin knew he’d have to work for this one.

“What’s the worst date you’ve ever been on?”

Peter seemed relieved by the question, and smirked. 

“Central park. Skating in the winter. My friends set me up with this girl, really cute, actually. It was supposed to be wonderfully romantic, holding hands and hot chocolate afterwards, but she was a fiasco on ice and whined the whole time. We didn’t last more than 30 minutes before we called the date off.”

Quentin pictured Peter elegantly gliding on ice, trying to pull his date along. “Sounds like it was a disaster.”

Peter chuckled. “It was. I still complain to my friends about it.”

They both sipped at their tea for a moment, Quentin watching the reminiscent look in Peter’s eyes. 

“My turn now, I suppose,” Peter said, setting his mug down. 

“Quentin, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” he responded smoothly. 

Peter hummed in thought for a few moments, tapping his finger to his chin.

“Do you have any...hidden talents?”

The question was less ambitious than Quentin had been hoping, or perhaps Peter had been expecting a naughtier answer. Still, Quentin was never one to hide his mastery of the theatrics. 

“It’s not exactly...hidden, per sé, but I can sing. Quite good, I’ve been told. I’d be happy to serenade you sometime, Peter.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed as he quickly lifted his mug to his lips, seemingly trying to cover his face. Quentin smirked. 

“Alright, Peter,” he said, crossing his legs and folding his hands on top of his knee, “have you ever kissed? I mean, _really_ kissed someone?” 

Peter frowned and tried to look indignant, but he was too cute to make it work.

“Course I have. My turn.” He cleared his throat and tried to put on a cool aire. 

“Quentin, truth or dare?”

“Truth,” Quentin shrugged. Peter licked his lips. 

“Have you ever kissed a um...“

“Both, though I prefer men,” Quentin said easily. 

“R-really? Me too, I just…”

“Haven’t found the right one? Don’t worry, you will. Maybe sooner rather than later.” 

Peter locked eyes with Quentin for a few moments before looking down at his tea again. 

“Y-You’re turn, I guess.”

“Peter, truth or dare.”

This time, Peter hesitated a few moments before meeting Quentin’s eyes with a ferocity that said dare even before it escaped his lips. 

“Dare,” he breathed. 

Quentin rubbed his hand across his beard in thought. “Hmmm...what’s something I could have you do?” Peter looked like he was about to combust as he hung on Quentin’s words. 

“How about I make it easy on you. Why don’t you do anything you’d like. Something you’ve been thinking of doing. Right now.”

Peter leapt from his chair so quickly that it toppled over, his mouth already pushing against Quentin’s lips, his hands cupping roving the scruff of Quentin’s beard before the chair even hit the floor. It was sloppy and desperate, but Quentin could work on that. 

“Easy tiger,” Quentin smirked, breaking the kiss. 

“Your eyes...are so blue,” Peter breathed, his hands still on Quentin’s face. 

“So I’ve been told.”

Peter pressed his lips into Quentin again, a little more gentle this time, but a bit more curious, his tongue slipping out and pushing against Quentin’s. Quentin tugged Peter into his lap so that he was sitting crosswise, his hands wrapped around his waist. 

Their lips parted once again, but Quentin continued kissing along Peter’s jaw, making his way to his throat and finally his neck. With much restraint, Quentin continued kissing rather than bruising Peter’s skin; Quentin’s ministrations earned him a soft hum.

“Your turn, Peter.”

“Quentin, truth or dare?” 

Quentin contemplated saying “truth” just to tease Peter, but he went with “dare” instead. Peter had fire in his eyes as he breathed against Quentin’s ear. 

“Fuck me.”

Peter whispered it so softly it was barely audible, but there was no mistaking what he’d said. 

“Really, Peter? I mean, we’ve only just met. Are you-“

Peter cupped a hand around Quentin’s cock, and Quentin was unable to contain a soft moan.

“Yes!”

“Well, since I was _dared_ , I suppose I _have_ to,” Quentin smirked as he lifted Peter up and carried him bridal style into his bedroom. He set him down on his bed, and Peter leaned back on his elbows, his cock already tenting his pajamas. _Quentin’s pajamas._

Quentin started stripping out of his clothes and the eyes that roved over his body did not go unnoticed. 

“Since this is still your turn, I take it I still have to do whatever you say,” Quentin asked as he tossed everything aside. Peter’s mouth was hanging open and his eyes were wide. Finally, he shook his head. 

“N-no! No. Just the one thing.”

Quentin crawled onto the bed, forcing Peter onto his back, his hand dipping under his shirt. 

“Good. Wait until we get to my turn again,” Quentin snarled as he brushed his hand over Peter’s stomach.

**Author's Note:**

> Over 18? Love Marvel and want a fun, accepting environment? Join us on Discord! https://discord.com/channels/@me/767603266963898410/767803337864118292


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